I Don't Care
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: He always lived in his father's shadow. Now it was his turn to shine. Contains Barda XD
1. I Don't Care

**Title: **I Don't Care  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Lief/Jasmine and Barda/Lindal in background  
**Warning:** Hint at child abuse, bad language, the usual  
**Disclaimer:** David is mine, but please don't hate him XD (Ashton is also mine)  
**Summary:** He always lived in his father's shadow. Now it was his turn to shine.

**I Don't Care**

_I try to make it through my life – in my way, there's you. I try to make it through these lies, that's all I do. Just don't deny it, just don't deny it, and deal with it, yeah deal with it. You tried to break me, you wanna break me bit by bit, that's just part of it._

All throughout his childhood, he'd lived in his father's shadow. His skills were not looked upon with the awe they deserved – no, because they all expected it of him. He was the son of the Savage, the frightening palace guard who also went by the name of David. When people looked at him, they saw his father. Few people referred to him by his actual given name. Even after his father was gone – reported missing, and never found – he still remained in the shadow of the Savage. To fight this, he trained even harder than before, working night and day to become the best palace guard the world had ever seen. He might have managed it, too, if he hadn't lost it in the mess hall that once.

Still, the bastard had it coming. Anyone with half a brain knew not to insult his mother – especially to his face. She was the one thing he held dear to his heart, and he would die to protect her, and her name. And that of course meant beating the shit out of someone when they called him a 'bastard son of a dirty whore'. Okay, so trying to rip his throat out with his bare hands probably wasn't the best way to go about it, but he was _angry_. It was shortly after that incident that people started calling him the Bear. Now he had another name to be referred to by everyone instead of his _actual_ name, but at least it was slightly better than the Savage's Son, or David's Boy.

Eventually he gave up trying to make people see him differently. It was useless – the more he trained to become the best palace guard, the more everyone said he was like his father. Aiming high was in his blood, apparently. So he stopped fighting his heritage and used it in his favour – he was soon one of the Chief's Favourites and the position of Deputy or Chief looked promising. He wasn't going to let that man ruin his life and his potential career. He still lay awake at night sometimes, remembering how his father would scream at him that he was worthless and pathetic, not worthy of being a palace guard. And then, of course, there were the times when his dear mother was at work, and it was just the two of them alone in the house. That's when things got physical. He never used to fight back. Not until he got tired of being kicked around and charged at his father, murderous intent in his eyes. Of course, that only made the punishment so much worse, but it was always worth it to see the brief flash of fear in those dark, cruel eyes.

Although the bruises faded, the broken bones healed, the angry red marks cut into his skin disappeared – only a few of them scarring his flesh for life – the emotional scars were still fresh inside of his heart. And sometimes, when he'd trained so hard he could barely stand up, all of those cruel words would come shooting back to him, hitting him hard. Worthless. Pathetic. Nothing. Not worth my time. Useless. A joke.

He couldn't even remember the last time his father had called him by his name, or even referred to him as his son. He couldn't remember the last time his father had called him by his very own personal pet-name.

_If you were dead or still alive, I don't care. I don't care. And all the things you left behind, I don't care. I don't care._

No one ever discovered what had happened to his father. Chief Ashton had sent out search parties all through the palace grounds, had even asked to be let out into the city of Del to search for him – this was not granted, of course, since it was forbidden to leave the palace walls. David had simply vanished. His mother had been heartbroken when she found out. There had been tears in her eyes when she'd told him that his father wasn't coming home. He'd run to his room instantly – not because he was upset, but because he didn't want his mother to see that he _wasn't_.

He didn't give a shit where his bastard of a father was. He hoped that the search parties would not find him somewhere, hoped he wouldn't return in a few days, or even a few weeks. He hoped his father would never return. The son of a bitch could rot in the Shadowlands for all he cared. He would never say these things to anyone, of course. No – he would play the sorrowful son until David's disappearance was old news, and then he would rise up from the ranks, and make a name for himself. He wouldn't live in the shadow of his savage father anymore.

When he first emerged from his room, Chief Ashton was sat with his mother, a shining sword between them. He later learned that his father was going to give him the sword when he entered the palace guard Academy at the age of ten – on closer inspection, he realized that the sword had once been his father's most trusted companion. He hadn't noticed the different sword his father had been using for the last few weeks. He took the sword, pretended to get choked up about it, and went on a walk through the grounds. He actually ended up enrolling for the Academy three years too young, but he was accepted anyway due to his skills. It made him feel good to prove to his father that he wasn't worthless after all – but of course, how would his father ever know? It was just like him to disappear right when he was going to show him up. Still, it was his first step to becoming his own legend.

_I try to make you see my side, always try to stay in line, but your eyes see right through, that's all they do. I'm getting tired of this shit, I got no room when it's like this, but you want me, just deal with it._

Apparently joining the Academy early did nothing to help him rise up out of the crowd. Due to his age and his apparent 'weak bone structure', he wasn't allowed to pass the first stage of training and move on with the other boys until he was the right age. Of course, this meant that by the time he was the proper age and ready to move on, he was already three times better than the other boys his age. He would go on to train for six more years – and unlike every other palace guard, would end up with nine years of training under his belt. No one seemed to notice, however. Just like his father.

He'd always tried to be a perfect student for his father – he practiced day and night to make sure he had a new technique perfect before he had to show his father how he'd progressed. But it was always the same – he ignored the skill and talent, and simply pointed out everything he did wrong, and told him that he would never be able to do anything in life because he was hopeless. He argued with his father eventually, tried to get him to listen, but it was no use, and he gave up trying. Arguments often led to more physical violence, and he hated his mother worrying about him getting into fights with the other boys he played with. He'd sometimes wished that his mother would figure out who was really marking him like that, and do something about it, but his father was a sneaky bastard. He'd come home, spot the darkening bruise that his own fist had caused, and pretend to be concerned – and then he would suggest that he train harder to make sure it didn't happen again. It was an obvious threat concealed in false concern.

Being promoted to Captain after only a year of experience as a guard was a sure way to get noticed, but the fuss soon died down after a few months. What was wrong with these people? He was the youngest Captain for nearly thirty years! Did this not tell them something? He quickly realized that if he wanted to be recognized for what he was, he would have to go beyond what his father did – he would have to become the Chief, and become the best one, too! By the time he was eighteen, there were only two Favourites left – a butch, muscular boy his age called Rockford, and himself. Only one of them could become the Chief, of course – the other would become his Deputy. He had to beat Rockford to it, otherwise he would be just like his father, and that would _not_ do at all.

_If you were dead or still alive, I don't care. I don't care. And all the things you left behind, I don't care. I don't care._

At nineteen, he was a Sergeant, and a damn good one at that. He now controlled three Captains, and three platoons of fresh, young guards. They were his responsibility – if they did something wrong, it was on _his_ head. He had to monitor their progress as they gained experience, had to regularly attend their training sessions, and had to whip them into shape as quickly as possible. His Captains respected him, despite all three of them being at least ten years older than him. The young, new guards saw him as their idol – after all, it was only three years ago when he had been in their position. His mother was so very proud of him, and that counted for a lot in his mind.

She'd never tell him, but she often saw David in him, especially when he became serious or frustrated. It was only slight, but the way his jaw set firmly, and the very slight narrowing of the eyes – it was David's look, the one that had even the bravest men quivering in their boots. And, of course, when he was furious, he looked more like David than ever. She knew that his three platoons were so well-behaved because they feared him just as much as they respected him. After all, the Captains had witnessed the incident in the mess hall, and it wasn't going to be something they forgot for a long time.

It was a crucial year for him, and Rockford. The following year was Chief Ashton's 30th year of rule, and as a tradition, he would announce who would become the next Chief, and the next Deputy. One slip up now could cost them their dream position. He was extra strict with his guards, making sure not one thing was out of place – every uniform spotless, every sword shining, every step in time. He had 48 perfectly trained guards under his command, and three outstanding Captains to make sure they stayed that way. Finally, his dream was becoming reality – already people were whispering about the young Sergeant already on his way up to the position of Chief. So far, in palace guard history, the youngest Chief to be announced had been twenty-three. If he was announced as the next Chief at the age of twenty, there would _definitely_ be talk. He would become a legend.

And if, by some chance, his father was still alive, and somehow caught wind of the news, surely then he would realize what a terrible mistake he had made. What a fool he would look if he ever came back after that! Even if Rockford stepped down from Deputy until David retired, how ashamed he would be to have to take orders from his son! The son he neglected and abused because he wasn't worthy in his eyes!

_Why don't you care for me? Why don't you care for me? If you won't be there for me, you won't be there for me._

But there was going to be a fault in his master plan. Three days before the announcement, at King Endon's celebratory seven-years-of-reign feast, a tragedy occurred. He lost his mother, his friends, his job and his home. He had nothing left in his world, except for a dirty, torn uniform and the only thing he ever received from his father – a beautiful sword.

Though he hated to admit it, he knew that if his father had been beside Chief Ashton when – for lack of a better phrase – the shit hit the fan, maybe it wouldn't have ended the same way. David would never have let his mother perish. David would not have run away like a coward. He would have stood his ground and fought to the death, just like all the other palace guards.

He eventually found a warm, loving home with blacksmith Jarred and his wife, Anna. They took him in and comforted him when the pain became too much to bear. For the first time in thirteen years, he spoke the words that his father had all too often used to describe him. A worthless, pathetic excuse for a palace guard. A waste of time. He meant nothing now. He couldn't even protect his mother. How could he have believed that he could have protected the entire palace, along with the thousands of guards under his rule? He was going downhill fast, and it didn't look as though he would ever surface again.

But it was a young boy – a scared young boy, shaking with fear as a thunderstorm raged outside – that helped him back up. The blacksmith's son, at only three years of age, trusted him completely, and believed he could protect him. And protect that little boy he did. He protected him even before his parents asked him to – and continued to protect him even when the young hothead believed he could take care of himself.

_If you were dead or still alive, I don't care. I don't care. And all the things you left behind, I don't care. I don't care._

Anna – who was, of course, Queen Sharn – told her boy about the events leading up to that fateful night. And so, he learnt that if the attack had waited only four days more, his protector might have become the next Chief. He had then turned to his female companion with a glint in his eye, and she had nodded her approval. It was time to bring the Bear back to life.

Although he wasn't twenty years old and becoming the youngest Chief in history, and he wasn't rivalled against the only man of his age bigger than he was, the walk of fame up to the throne of King Lief felt just as he had expected it to. In front of old and new palace guards, Lords and Ladies, and the townsfolk of Del, indeed in front of many others from around Deltora, he was knighted as Chief of the palace guards.

As Sharn pinned the gleaming gold star medallion to his uniform jacket, one hand touched the hilt of the sword that had saved his life more times than he cared to remember. He had done it. Finally, his dream had come true. He had risen above his father. Far above. And the name he had made for himself was not down to his skills as a palace guard, but down to his huge part in saving Deltora.

A few more years passed and Deltora was free of evil at last. With that in mind, Lief and Jasmine settled down and married, and he himself found a woman who caught his eye. He found a good friend in an unlikely place – the ever mysterious Doom. His close bond with Sharn never frayed, and now he had even more ties. He had lost a family once, but now he had gained one so much larger. Lief and Jasmine would have children, one day, and he swore to protect them until he was on his deathbed, and even then he would protect them beyond that.

As Doom tossed down his hand of cards in frustration – having lost to him, yet again – he took a moment to gaze around the palace kitchen. Sharn and Marilen were teaching Jasmine how to cook properly, whilst Ranesh and Lief laughed together, both keeping an eye on young Josef. Gers and Lindal were throwing back ale like water after Gers had made a stupid remark about how men could handle their drink better than women. Doom demanded a rematch and he gathered up the cards, shuffling them expertly and dealing with a casual smile on his face. This was family. This was home.

_If you were dead or still alive, I don't care. I don't care. And all the things you left behind, I don't care. I don't care._

Later, he took white roses to the stone marker beneath his mother's favourite tree, and laid them upon her grave. Roses had always been her favourite flower, and white her favourite colour – for purity, she had always said. White roses always looked unspoiled and beautiful, fresh and glowing. He brought her the pure flowers every year, once on her birthday, and once on the anniversary of that fateful night. And every time he came here, there was always one red rose already laid upon the stone. He never knew who put it there, but it was nice to see it each time.

This time, however, there was no red rose. He frowned, curiosity taking over as he pondered the missing rose. Had the kind-hearted soul forgotten this year, or were they simply busy and would place it there later? There were soft footfalls behind him and he turned to see a man – he could tell it was a man due to the body shape – in a large, hooded cloak. He was about to demand identity when he noticed the single red rose in the man's hand. So _this_ was who it was! Perhaps he had been a little late, this time. He smiled now, and stepped back so the man could place the rose upon the grave. He was about to thank the kind man for the gesture, when he spoke.

"Red, for heart, for soul, for eternal love." He froze when he heard the man speak. The voice was too familiar for his liking, the words exactly as he remembered his mother telling him. After placing the rose on the marker, the man turned, swiftly whipped back his hood and put a hand on the shoulder of his uniform jacket. "A Chief and a hero, Barda? That's my boy." He wanted to throw himself at this man, tear him limb from limb and teach him a lesson.

But something strange happened instead.

He smiled. He jerked forward. And he hugged his father.

And his father returned the embrace. Nothing could stop the grin from spreading across Barda's face at the next words from his father's mouth.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo."

_I don't care. At all._

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Just some points to clear up:_

_1) The italic bits between chunks of text are lyrics. I did not write them. They belong to the song I Don't Care by Apocalyptica. I heard the song and it literally screamed BARDA AND HIS FATHER so I had to use it to build up on a story._

_2) Some facts I made up about the palace guards - ranks go Soldier, Captain, Sergeant, Deputy, Chief. The 'Chief's Favourites' are four to six Soldiers that the Chief personally trains to be the next Chief and Deputy. 30 years of rule is all a Chief can have unless he is voted back in by the guards, so Barda or Rockford would have stepped up once the Chief retired. The Deputy has the same rule. The palace guard Academy is where all the training happens before the boys qualify as guards. Minimum age is supposed to be 10, Barda got in at 7 to prove a point to his missing father (it made sense to him)._

_3) I always imagined that young Lief would see Barda as an older brother, or an uncle, who could protect him from the things he would be ashamed to admit he was afraid of to anyone else._

_4) Yes, 'kiddo' is what David called Barda when he was really little. And no, he wasn't being sarcastic when he said 'That's my boy', he's actually proud of Barda. He was always mean to him for a reason :P_

_5) In case you're wondering, the reason Barda recognized the words David said about the red rose was because those were the first words he ever said to Min when they first started courting, when he gave her a bunch of red roses. Naturally, Min told her son about those things, if he asked to hear them or not XD_

_6) Yes, I tend to write HUGE Author's Notes. Anything else you want to know, just ask in a review :D Thanking you muchly!_


	2. Note Concerning Story

Just a little note, cause it's going to bug me if more people point it out XD

When Lief first comes into the story as the three-year-old boy who helps Barda back onto his feet etc, it is not set DIRECTLY after he leaves the palace. It IS set three years afterwards.  
Just so people understand that I didn't make a mistake with Lief's birth =P

- homesweethomicide13

OH and who thinks I should either write another chapter or continue with a similar theme? Cause I have no inspiration for my other stories at the moment...


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